Marcus reached into his jacket and pulled out a sleek, metallic device. With a flick of his thumb, a small but bright flame sprang to life, casting eerie shadows on the walls of the library.

One of his friends, a wiry boy with nervous eyes, leaned in closer. "What's that for?" he asked, already uneasy.

Marcus smirked, the flickering light dancing in his cold gaze. "Isn't it obvious?" he replied, gesturing around the dusty room filled with dry, forgotten books. "I'm burning this dump down."

The nervous boy's eyes widened. "What? Are you serious?"

"Dead serious," Marcus said, his voice low and sharp. "According to my dad, paper's crazy flammable. This place will go up in no time."

Another friend, taller but equally hesitant, glanced toward the deeper parts of the library. "But... isn't Zayn still in here?"

"That's the point," Marcus snapped, his smirk twisting into a scowl. "I'm done letting that criminal walk around like he owns the place. Did you see how he fought back? Like he's better than me? Nah. He's trash, and I'm taking out the trash."

"That's... that's too far, man," the nervous boy stammered, stepping back. "This isn't a prank anymore. You could—"

"Shut up," Marcus growled, glaring at him. His voice dropped to a venomous whisper. "You don't get it. I'm doing everyone in this school a favor. He doesn't belong here. He doesn't belong anywhere."

Intimidated, the two boys fell silent, exchanging uncertain glances but lacking the courage to defy him.

Marcus moved to a nearby shelf, grabbed a handful of old books, and tossed them to the ground in a careless heap. With a flick of his wrist, he touched the flame to the dry paper. It caught instantly, the fire greedily devouring the brittle pages and licking at the surrounding books.

The flames spread faster than any of them anticipated, climbing the shelves and racing along the carpet. The glow reflected in Marcus's wide eyes as his smirk faltered slightly.

"Whoa, that's—" the taller boy began, but Marcus cut him off.

"Come on. We're out of here," he barked, already heading for the exit. "Bar the door on the way out. Make sure no one gets in—or out."

The boys obeyed without another word, dragging a heavy wooden bench across the doorframe before fleeing down the hallway.

Minutes passed, the library silent but for the growing roar of flames.

Zayn sat in his secluded corner, engrossed in The Lord of the Bracelets. He didn't notice the faint crackling at first, nor the growing heat that began to radiate through the air. But as he turned another page, a strange smell drifted to his nose—acrid and sharp.

Frowning, he set the book down and sniffed the air. "What the...?"

Curiosity tugged him from his seat. He moved cautiously through the maze of shelves, the smell growing stronger with each step. As he neared the library's entrance, his heart skipped a beat.

The sight before him was surreal—a wall of flames consuming the rows of books near the door. Smoke curled upward, dark and choking, as the fire hungrily spread across the carpet and shelves.

For a moment, Zayn simply stared, frozen in disbelief. But the heat quickly snapped him out of it, and panic began to take hold.

"Fire..." he whispered hoarsely, his voice drowned out by the growing roar.

He turned back toward the deeper part of the library, searching for an alternate exit. The flames were moving fast, too fast, and he knew he didn't have much time.

Zayn's mind raced as he took a shaky step back from the raging inferno. The acrid smell of burning paper filled his lungs, and his thoughts tumbled over each other in panic.

He knew fires like this shouldn't happen, not anymore. In the modern age, disasters like these were immediately handled by automated systems and AI drones. Sprinklers would activate, extinguishing foam would be deployed, and robotic responders would arrive to neutralize the threat in seconds. But this library, abandoned and neglected, lacked all of those safeguards. The school had deemed it obsolete, unworthy of modern upkeep.

Zayn clenched his fists, his heart pounding as he scanned the room. "Okay... okay, think. What do I do?" he muttered to himself, his voice trembling.

His first instinct was to find water, but the library had no sinks or obvious sources nearby. He grabbed his backpack and pulled out a reusable water bottle, but as he threw its meager contents onto the flames, the fire hissed angrily, undeterred.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"Damn it!" he growled, frustration mounting. He looked around for a fire extinguisher, but the walls were bare—no safety equipment in sight.

"Why didn't they teach us about this?" Zayn whispered bitterly. Fires were a relic of the past, emergenciwere es now delegated to machines. Nobody had thought it necessary to prepare students for situations like this.

His eyes darted toward the bookshelves towering around him, and an idea sparked in his mind. "The books..." he murmured.

Zayn rushed to a nearby section, scanning spines and titles with frantic speed. His hands trembled as he yanked volumes off the shelves, tossing aside irrelevant ones. His gaze landed on a thick book labeled Basic Emergency Practices: A Manual for the Old World.

"Yes!" he gasped, pulling it free and flipping it open. He skimmed the yellowed pages, squinting to decipher the old-fashioned diagrams and archaic language. "Fire suppression... water or sand. Smothering with blankets or fabric... okay, I can do this."

He sprinted to a corner where heavy drapes hung near the walls. Tearing one down, he ran back to the fire and tried to throw it over the flames. The fabric caught alight almost immediately, disintegrating in a burst of heat and ash.

"No, no, no!" Zayn backed away, coughing as the smoke thickened around him. The fire had spread too quickly, devouring nearly half the library now. Shelves collapsed one by one, sending showers of embers into the air.

Desperation clawed at him as he glanced toward the boarded windows. If he couldn't extinguish the flames, he could at least escape. He rushed toward one of the windows, gripping the boards and tugging with all his strength. They didn't budge. The nails were rusted but stubbornly intact, and the wood held firm.

"Damn it!" Zayn shouted, slamming his fist against the unyielding boards. He scanned the room again, but every exit seemed consumed or blocked. The growing heat pressed against his skin, and his vision blurred as tears streamed from his smoke-stung eyes.

He collapsed to his knees, coughing violently, his mind frantically grasping for a way out. If I don't figure something out soon... this is it.

Zayn stumbled around the library, trying everything his panicked mind could conjure. He flung chairs at the windows in a desperate attempt to break the boards, but they held fast. He piled books onto the fire in a futile attempt to smother it, but the flames consumed them greedily. He even tried using his jacket to beat back the blaze, but the heat was too intense, and the fabric nearly ignited in his hands.

The fire was relentless, creeping closer and closer, its roar drowning out his frantic breaths. Smoke filled his lungs, and his strength began to wane. He stumbled into a corner, slumping to the ground as exhaustion took over.

"I can't... I can't stop it," he muttered, his voice hoarse.

As he sat there, the events of the past hour replayed in his mind like a cruel loop. The fight, the principal's harsh words, the mocking grin on Marcus's face—all of it seemed so small now. What did it even matter?

Then, the memories shifted.

He saw himself, younger, standing in a room drenched in crimson. His hands trembled, covered in blood, his face streaked with it. A voice echoed in his mind, high-pitched and desperate—a girl's voice.

"Zayn, stop! Please, stop!"

The image struck him like a physical blow. He clenched his fists, shaking his head violently to dispel the vision, but the memory was stubborn.

"No," he whispered, shutting his eyes tight. "Not now. Not this."

But the blood lingered in his mind, the girl's pleading voice looping over and over. His chest tightened, and he felt as though he couldn't breathe.

With a shuddering sigh, he forced the memories back into the recesses of his mind, where they had lived for years. He stared blankly at the flames crawling closer and muttered, "Is this what it's like? Seeing your life flash before your eyes, like in the stories?"

His thoughts turned bitter. He thought of his parents, who had abandoned him after that day. The way his teachers looked at him with disdain. The whispers of his classmates, the isolation.

He hated this life.

A laugh, weak and bitter, escaped his lips. "I'd trade this for anything else," he murmured to himself. "Any other life. One with meaning... one where I mattered."

The flames inched closer, their heat searing his skin. He closed his eyes, his mind reaching for solace in the stories he'd read—the tales of magical creatures, daring spacefaring heroes, and gods who ruled over vast pantheons.

But something strange began to happen.

At first, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him, a hallucination born from the smoke. But when he opened his eyes, he saw it clearly.

Letters.

They floated in the air, glowing faintly, like tiny embers of light. They emerged from everything—the fire, the books, even the air itself. Curling, swirling, dancing upward in patterns that defied explanation.

Zayn blinked, rubbing his eyes, but the letters remained.

"What... what is this?" he whispered, his voice trembling.

The letters seemed to pulse, as though alive. They drifted upward, coalescing into shapes and symbols, forming a tapestry of impossible words that hung in the air above him. Zayn could see them, feel them, and for the first time in a long time, he felt something stir inside him.

Wonder.

The letters weren't just confined to the library. They spilled out through the cracks in the boarded windows, rising into the smoke-filled sky like fireflies in the wind. As they ascended, they shimmered, growing brighter and more numerous.

Unbeknownst to Zayn, this phenomenon wasn't isolated to him. Across the city, glowing letters appeared in homes, schools, and streets. They hovered over highways, swirled through parks, and illuminated darkened alleys.

In bustling metropolises, people froze mid-step as the letters manifested, forming intricate patterns that spiraled above skyscrapers. In rural towns, fields lit up as the symbols scattered like ethereal snow. Even the oceans weren't spared; sailors watched in awe as glowing shapes danced over the waves, casting strange reflections into the water.

And it wasn't just Zayn's city.

From the deserts of Africa to the rainforests of South America, from the icy tundras of Siberia to the neon-lit streets of Tokyo, the letters appeared. They floated, drifted, and danced in ways no human mind could comprehend.

The world stood still, humanity captivated by the impossible. Some prayed others panicked, and a few simply stared in awe, their faces lit by the radiant glow of the letters.

But amidst the wonder, a subtle tension grew. The letters weren't just decoration; they were alive, humming with a purpose beyond mortal understanding. It was as if they were waiting—poised on the edge of revelation, a breath held before the plunge.

The Last Chapter had begun to write itself.